


Forgiven

by Delirious21



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 10:28:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17806307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delirious21/pseuds/Delirious21
Summary: Even after the destruction of the Decepticons, and Megatron's arrival on the Lost Light, some things haven't been addressed. Megatron struggled to adjust, but Optimus and Ultra Magnus show up outside his door one sleepless night.





	Forgiven

It was one of the rare nights when Megatron’s processor was quiet enough to let him recharge. He settled onto his berth and shuttered his optics, but nothing happened. His internal clocks told him he’d been laying there for nearly three joors when he heard the first thump. It was right outside his door, possibly on his door, and was heavy, like someone being shoved against it. Megatron rubbed his optics and sat up when it came again.

 

If he wasn’t going to recharge, might as well scold whoever was touseling in the hallway. Just before he opened his door, Megatron heard a new sound: a low, guttural  _ whine _ . He froze, waiting for it to come again. Who, for Pit’s sake, was outside his room?

 

There was the slightest scraping of metal against metal, and Megatron opened the door. Whoever it was could take their business elsewhere: such nuisances should be addressed, not left to fester until they wake up the whole crew. Megatron thought it was an exaggeration on his part, but he found himself doubting that assessment as a red and blue mass crashed into him. They ended up a heap on the floor of Megatron’s meager room, but someone closed the door and it clicked as it locked.

 

Megatron shoved whoever was on top of him, off and stood. “What on Cyber—” His glossa stuck to the roof of his mouth when his optics adjusted. He cleared his throat. “Ultra Magnus? Optimus Prime?”

 

Why hadn’t either turned on the lights? Magnus stood by, as if guarding, the door, but his shoulders weren’t as tense as usual, there was a slack to them and a tilt to his lips. He watched Megatron just as curiously as Optimus. The smaller mech groaned as he pushed off the floor.

 

“Did we wake you, old friend?” Optimus asked, optics trailing a bit too low for Megatron’s comfort.

 

“No.” Megatron couldn’t help but notice the red glow his optics shone into the room, in direct contrast with his visitors’ blue. “Do you need something?”

 

The Prime stepped closer, servos outstretched. “We do not need anything, but it has come to our attention that your performance is dwindling.”

 

From the door, Ultra Magnus added, “We are here to help you, Megatron. This is not a situation your stubborn moral will rescue you from.”

 

Megatron wasn’t sure what the mechs were insinuating, but the scent of o-zone beginning to cloud the air gave his systems a kick. He couldn’t tell for certain, but he thought that Ultra Magnus was the one emitting the pungent heat.

 

Optimus sat on the edge of Megatron’s berth and crossed his legs, folding his servos in his lap. It was a stature that reminded the ex-con of Rung and his questions, his diagnosese.

 

“I do not understand,” Megatron said. “What is it you intend to do to… help me?”

 

Ultra Magnus grinned. He  _ grinned _ . Someone call Ratchet, the mech is broken! The Second in Command stepped closer until Megatron could tell, for certain, that he was the one struggling to suppress his primal functions. The massive mech carefully placed his servos on either side of Megatron’s waist.

 

Megatron froze. “What has gotten into you, Magnus?” he hissed.

 

The SIC frowned. “You.”

 

Megatron stepped back, but he had nowhere to go. He could lock himself in his private restroom, but there was no dignity in that. How much more was there in interfacing with the SIC while a Prime watched?

 

Optimus, in fact, hadn’t moved from his perch on the foot of the bed. “Ultra Magnus, remember that this is about Megatron, not you,” he said.

 

The Magnus nodded. “Of course, sir. My apologies.” He stepped back, giving Megatron just enough space to think.

 

“Optimus,” he managed. “What are you intending?”

 

Prime patted the berth next to him, and Megatron obliged.

 

“Rung tells us that you have found it difficult to adjust to life on the Lost Light.” Optimus’ optics never felt so gentle: open and genuinely caring. It wasn’t a look Megatron was familiar with.

 

He looked away, warily eyeing Magnus. Of course he was struggling. In the midst of trying to rediscover himself, he was placed on a ship of Bots who he hurt, one way or another, and he was supposed to fit in? It was all rather absurd.

 

“Is that all?” Megatron asked, setting his jaw.

 

Optimus frowned, still watching him. “No. Ratchet tells us that your systems are backed up, and that you refuse to see him about it.”

 

It was Megatron’s turn to frown. “Doctors, therapists, they never can shut their mouths, can they?” He scoffed.

 

Magnus sat near the head of the berth. “That is not the issue, Megatron. You are not taking care of yourself.”

 

“Mind  _ or  _ body,” Optimus added. “You need to… relax, and Rung believed Ultra Magnus and I are the best candidates to help you with that.”

 

“You?” Megatron scoffed. Ultra Magnus, he might be able to understand, but Optimus Prime? Yes, they had started off as friends, but Megatron doubted that his old arch-nemesis really wanted to get all touchy-feely. Optimus had a good spark, but this…

 

Optimus, as if reading his thoughts, lifted a servo to brush his cheek. “Do you remember the cycles when we would sit in and read for joors? I never felt closer to you,” he whispered.

 

The guilt gnawing at Megatron’s spark was too much. “That was a very long time ago, Prime.” He hated that Ultra Magnus was there, silently witnessing all of this.

 

Optimus’ servo fell away. “Yet, here we are.” Megatron stared fiercely at his servos. How many had he murdered with those servos? Cold blooded, warmed only by his victims’ screams, their pleas for mercy or their indignant cries of what he once considered treason. Loyalty. Was that what Optimus was trying to tell him? That a loyalty, one that had been trampled and left to rot, could resurface and rear its head in the most unexpected way?

 

“Megatron,” Optimus said. “For one night, forget the past. We all will, if it means helping you.”

 

Megatron’s jaw loosened. “You do not have to—”

 

Optimus silenced him with a kiss. A slow, meticulous connection of intakes: one that felt alien but familiar at the same time. Megatron, had he still been a gladiator, would have conquered that sweet mouth, would have ravaged both mechs in his room, and gone for highgrade after, barely phased. But this was different, better. Gentle. Careful. Nothing like the war, the hate, the memories, that haunted him.

 

Ultra Magnus, suddenly kneeling before them, smoothed his massive servos over Megatron’s quivering thighs. He held them until they stopped shaking. Megatron tried to pull away from Optimus, burning with shame, but the Prime steadied him with a servo on the back of his helm. He felt like a first timer, shaking and gasping, so confused and distraught but craving more.

 

Optimus’ free servo coasted along Megatron’s heaving sides, dipping into flared plating and carefully rubbing sensitive wires. Ultra Magnus was doing the same to the backs of his knees, the joints in his hips, the seams of his groin. Megatron bit down, startled when a servo activated the manual release on his interface array. Optimus detached himself from Megatron for a brief moment, to lick away the energon beading in the cut on his lip.

 

“Megatron,” he whispered, voice sultry but concerned. “Is something wrong?”

 

Ultra Magnus also stopped his ministrations. “Did I hurt you?” he rumbled.

 

Megatron shook his helm. “No, I…” He couldn’t find the words he was looking for. Something, a question, maybe a threat? Did he want them to stop? No, that wasn’t it. He wanted them to keep going, but he couldn’t stand this careful touch-and-go. He didn’t deserve this.

 

Optimus watched Megatron with those gorgeous, piercing blue optics and he couldn’t help but sink back into the memories. The battles, the wounds, the hatred. It was too much and not enough. How was he supposed to voice that?

 

“Megatron?”

 

It was Optimus again, rubbing slow circles on the small of Megatron’s back. Megatron stood up and “casually” leaned against a wall: the only escape he could come up with.

 

“I’ve had enough of this,” he said. He struggled to speak with the authority that marked his existence. Neither Optimus nor Magnus moved. “I can relieve myself, thank you.” He was all too aware that his flaccid spike and dry valve were on display, thanks to the damned Magnus.

 

Optimus shared a glance with Ultra Magnus.

 

“What do you want, Megatron?” Optimus asked, voice barely audible.

 

“For you to leave, so that I may recharge,” Megatron snarled. It came out more of a whine than anything else.

 

“Listen to yourself.” Optimus was walking over. “You have not rested in cycles, and it is wearing on you. You are killing yourself.” He was right in front of Megatron now. “And I will not have that. Not after everything you —we— survived. You are not allowed to run away, not when I finally have you back.”

 

Ultra Magnus was nodding in the background. “And I, as much as I may hate to say it some days, enjoy your company, Megatron. Was I wrong when I told myself that you and I were… comrades?”

 

What was a mech supposed to say to that? Although his voice was struggling to respond to the affection, his spike knew what it wanted. He tried to will it to depressurize, but it grew to full size instead. Optimus either didn’t notice, or ignored it on purpose. Either way, Megatron was grateful.

 

“Optimus, Ultra Magnus,” he finally said. “I do not deserve your help.”

 

Magnus hummed and Optimus scoffed.

 

“The Pits you don’t.”

 

Megatron didn’t have the time to compute who’d snapped that because he was suddenly pinned against the wall, hot mouths and warm servos mapping his frame. His spike bobbed as Ultra Magnus picked him up, bridal style, and carried him to the berth. Optimus followed and joined Megatron on the berth, swinging one long leg over him and straddling his thighs, far enough back that his spike jut against warm panels.

 

Ultra Magnus kissed a trail up the middle of Megatron’s thighs, whispering sweet, muffled nothings. 

 

“Gorgeous.”

 

Optimus smiled, genuine and comforting, watching Megatron’s reactions to the Magnus.

 

“Deserve —mmf— this.”

 

Megatron’s hips bucked when a glossa flicked over his anterior node.

 

“Sweet.”

 

Optimus grabbed Megatron’s servos and brought them to his waist. “You can touch me, Megatron,” he said. As if confirming his promise, Optimus brushed a servo over his spike, palming the transfluid beading there.

 

Megatron gasped at the combined sensations of Magnus licking his valve and Optimus rubbing his spike. It felt… too good. He let his servos fall back to his sides, but Optimus wasn’t having any of that. As Magnus nudged the lining of his valve with one massive digit, Optimus opened his panels. The Prime’s collected transfluid dripped onto Megatron’s spike, and he arched at the new feeling.

 

The charge growing in the pit of his tanks warned him that he was already so close to the edge. When Optimus rocked his hips and ground his weeping valve against the belly of Megatron’s impressive spike, Megatron couldn’t help himself. He threw his helm back, clenching his jaw on a groan, and thrust into the air as his spike exploded, spraying transfluid on his and Optimus’ chassis. His valve clenched desperately around the first knuckle of Magnus’ digit, spasming in the afterglow.

 

Megatron turned his helm, curling his fists around the edge of the berth. “I… I apologize. It has been so long…”

 

Optimus caught him in a spine-arching kiss, his servos pumping Megatron’s spike, even though it didn’t need any coaxing and was still standing. Magnus slipped a second digit into Megatron and he gasped, the sound muffled by Optimus’s passionate mouth. Megatron moaned as the Prime searched his mouth, glossa slipping along scarred cheeks and dancing with Megatron’s glossa. There was no fight for dominance, just a push and pull motion entwining them.

 

Magnus was thrusting his digits in and out of Megatron’s greedy valve, curling them to activate shallow clusters of dusty nodes. When he pulled out, Optimus backed off as well.

 

Megatron hadn’t noticed all of their fans were on high until he took a moment to breathe. Did Optimus and Ultra Magnus get off that much on pleasuring him? The thought seemed absurd, but the smile splitting Magnus’ faceplates was all the proof he needed.

 

“Megatron,” Magnus panted. “How do you want us?”

 

How did he  _ want  _ them? He took a moment to assess himself. He could handle so much more than three digits, even Magnus’, and he was nowhere near done. Optimus grabbed his spike again and started teasing the slit.

 

“Ah—” Megatron gasped. “In… in me.”

 

Optimus paused. “Both of us? Are you sure you can handle that?”

 

Ultra Magnus carefully reinserted two digits, forcing Megatron to bite back a moan. The digits spread and flexed, testing his capacitors. “If we are careful, he can,” Magnus said, his voice a sultry pur.

 

“Yes,” Megatron rumbled, trying to grind his hips down on those perfect digits. “Hurry.”

 

While Magnus worked up to four digits, Optimus stayed sprawled over Megatron’s chassis, kissing and nipping, everything slow and tentative. Megatron held the Prime’s hips and let him do as he wish, trying not to lose himself in the digits scissoring him.

 

“Optimus,” Ultra Magnus purred. “He is ready.”

 

Optimus sat back, giving Megatron a quizzical look. “Is this really what you want?”

 

“Slag, yes.”

 

He didn’t tell the Prime that it would finally give him the pain he was looking for, what he was desperate for. Although he knew the mechs handling him would be careful, he hoped that they would let loose long enough to stop asking how he felt every few nano-clicks, and just have their way.

 

Megatron moaned when Ultra Magnus removed his digits and pulled him to stand so that he could slip behind him. The Magnus sat on the lip of the berth, and Megatron watched as he finally opened his panels, revealing a spike no less impressive than Optimus’. They were both so thick, so large, befitting of their frames. Megatron was all too happy to stradle Magnus’ hips, wrapping his arms around the mech’s taut neck cables.

 

“Relax,” Magnus whispered, kissing Megatron harder than Optimus. While they ravaged each others mouths, Magnus lifted Megatron and aligned him the head of his massive spike. Megatron keened as he was lowered onto it. Primus, the stretch felt wonderful, that slow burn as Magnus filled him inch by inch. They were both panting when Magnus seated himself, and Megatron rocked his hips against the magnificent girth, biting back moans.

 

Ultra Magnus groaned and thrust into Megatron twice, slow, horribly slow, and then there was another chassis pressing into his spinal strut. Optimus slipped a digit in alongside Magnus’ spike, and Megatron dropped himself the rest of the way, swallowing up two knuckles.

 

“I —ah— can take it,” Megatron growled.

 

Optimus kissed his shoulders, his spike pressing up next to Magnus’. Magnus lifted Megatron so that he was barely hanging off the tip, and Optimus pushed in. All three mechs stilled, panting, fans near meltdown level, until Megatron swirled his hips. Magnus took the cue and lowered him onto both spikes, sheathing both, and filling Megatron completely.

 

Magnus bit down on Megatron’s nec k, a familiar, raspy whine escaping him. Megatron bit the mech back, and the whining intensified. He never would have expected that sound to come from the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord, but it was oddly endearing.

 

Behind him, Optimus gasped, “Megatron, you are too —nng— tight!”

 

“I-I am fine, just move,” Megatron panted.

 

Thank Primus that they listened. Optimus thrust carefully, but Magnus was a bit rougher, and he snapped his hips fast and hard, and Megatron was quivering all over again, crying their names, holding on for his life. Optimus picked up his pace to match Magnus, and as one thrust the other pulled out, piledriving Megatron’s soaked valve.

 

“P-Primus!” Magnus moaned, engine revving as he thrust into that tight, friction-filled heat. Megatron felt the same way, two spikes sliding in and out, striking nodes he had few memories of, and Magnus getting closer and closer to his gestation chamber with every mind-shattering thrust.

 

Optimus reached around Megatron and grabbed his spike, pumping it in time with his thrusts. “I want to hear you,” the Prime moaned.

 

Megatron was close, and choking down his moans and whimpers was exhausting. When he let go and sank back onto those magnificent spikes, he let out a cry, and it felt just as good when Magnus and Optimus reacted. They thrust faster, moaned louder, and couldn’t stop gasping his name.

 

Megatron’s charge was skyrocketing, and he could feel the twitch and throb of Magnus and Optimus’ spikes. Chasing his overload, he slammed his hips down on those spikes as they thrust.

 

“Ah! Megatron!” Magnus cried as his spike clicked into place with Megatron’s gestation chamber. Megatron felt it too, the overwhelming heat that was filling him, forcing him to grind down, harder, force more of that huge spike into his chamber. Optimus was still thrusting, and Megatron rocked into him, aft pressed against his pelvis.

 

“M-Magnus,” Megatron moaned. “Please, overlo— ah!”

 

With one last thrust, Optimus and Megatron overloaded, filling Megatron’s valve with white hot transfluid that struggled to find space to fill, and ended up leaking out of him around both spikes. The feeling of Optimus thrusting feebly, rubbing their spikes together in all that wet heat, had Magnus spilling over into his overload, and Megatron overloaded again as he pumped transfluid into his gestation chamber.

 

They screamed each others’ names, all arching and spitting static, twisted together and thrusting through their overloads. Megatron’s optics glitched and he collapsed against Ultra Magnus’ chassis, heaving. 

  
  


 

 

Megatron jolted awake. The room was dark and silent but for the sound of his systems onlining. He scoffed when he looked down and found his platings open, his array a mess of pink. A dream. Of course it had been a dream. Optimus would never forgive him, never dream of touching him.

 

Megatron sat up and headed into his personal washracks. Steam curled under the closed door, and he froze when he opened it. Optimus  _ had  _ forgiven him, touched him. Ultra Magnus declared a friendship, or more than that. Now what?


End file.
